


Revenge

by Loch



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-01
Updated: 2013-06-01
Packaged: 2017-12-13 15:52:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/826057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loch/pseuds/Loch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Much to the dismay of the 'Barricade Boy's' (as they had come to be known) Javert's suicide-by-bridge had indeed been a lie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Revenge

**Author's Note:**

> There is a fantastic fic on here that is an extended version of the scene where Javert is captured. I made the mistake of showing it to a Javert fan. I attempted to make it up to her.

Much to the dismay of the 'Barricade Boy's' (as they had come to be known) Javert's suicide-by-bridge had indeed been a lie.  
Much like his death by stranger-in-the-night had been. Was the man a ghost or a spider, they each privately wondered. Spinning lies or rising from the grave?  
But reappeared he had, and the very idea of it had Enjolras spitting fire, same as he had about his world-altering ideas before his barricade was broken, his friends injured and changed, and Grantaire had nearly died stopping bullets for him  
Now he spoke with passion about smaller targets, smaller goals, that would eventually coalesce into revolution.  
He still stirred the people, and that was how Javert had tracked him down. It was almost pleasant to have prey that wasn't even trying to hide. Silly school boy.  
Javert's mission was one of revenge. Of law and personal reasons and promises sworn by stars.  
Valjean had died in his own comfort, and that was that. The little boy, the rat that had singled him out -he was naught but a child, influenced to sin by older companions. The boy he pitied.  
No, it was Enjolras he wanted. The leader of the sinners, the corrupter supreme. Their violent false angel. Well, Javert would be the one to expose this sinner, this heathen god, this false prophet.  
He would show Enjolras to be nothing more than human.  
No more than Javert, who had bled in front of them in place of the law. Whose life had been given as a prize in thanks.  
Enjolras lived alone, though often accompanied by friends or the one they called Grantaire, and walked through several alleyways to get home from their new Musain.  
Javert waited for him in one. He had with him two men, but he didn’t expect to need them -they were in case of interruptions. The interruption came in form of the drunkard, but the two subdued him with surprising difficulty as Javert handled his real mark.  
The baton brought the boy to his knees , one strike to the shoulder that disabled his arm and drew forth a cry of pain. He'd been going for his friend, who'd let out a cry as he was dragged and hit and taken to the ground, hadn't even seen Javert in the other shadows. He twisted on his knees in the dirt, holding his shoulder, and growled his words, though they would be more impressive, Javert thought, had his face not been quite so pale. "Javert."  
"Very astute." He let the baton hit his palm, looking down at the boy at his feet. He didn't look much cowed.  
He struck out deliberately slowly, so that Enjolras had time to raise and arm in protection, to have a bone in his forearm shattered as Javert's had been.  
He let out another cry, one that would inspire no followers, just pity.  
He took a second to check on his men -fine, thin black-haired boy struggling weakly but desperately, pitiful noises escaping him, arm in a sling and bandages showing through his shirt from wounds not healed- while Enjolras tried to hold shoulder and forearm and stand all at once.  
There was a sudden attack from Enjolras, who'd thrown himself at Javert's knees. It achieved it's aim, and he found himself on his back in the alley.  
With his good arm, the boy stole the baton and wavered between the two men over Grantaire and Javert himself.  
He had never looked less like a leader of man.  
Javert used his indecision for his advantage, dragging him back to the ground when his attention is drawn by a sharp cry and a bloody nose.  
He got the boy wrestled underneath him, roping his hands together with a pair of old cuffs, heavy and linked by thick chain.  
The pain from his arm and shoulder had the boy shaking, and it's almost enough to have Javert snorting. The foolish child -this was nothing! The boy had been so prepared to die, but now he will not stand for pain.


End file.
